


Buoyancy

by Molly



Category: NSYNC
Genre: M/M, Popslash - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-18
Updated: 2008-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-01 23:52:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molly/pseuds/Molly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Lance vs. Gravity</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Buoyancy

"Chris, what the hell. What did you guys do to JC?"

"What? What's wrong with JC? We didn't do anything to JC, what are you talking about?" A second of quiet on the line and Lance was about to answer when Chris yelled, "Justin! Phone! Lance!" so loud Lance nearly dropped his cell. And then Chris was back saying, "What did _you_ do to JC, Spaceboy?"

Lance fell backwards onto his couch and stretched his legs out in front of him. "He showed up at my door last night, totally out of the blue."

"So?"

"So, he said 'Hi, Lance!' and tipped over and fell asleep on the way to the floor. I had to carry him to bed, and for a skinny guy, he's not all that light when he's unconscious. He's been working out. I think I pulled something in my back."

"Oh, my god. JC fell asleep? That never happens! I'll call the wire services, you call MTV."

"Chris, he's been sleeping for like sixteen hours." And in case Chris wasn't fully appreciating the inconvenience, "In my bed!"

"And he's _still there!_"

Chris's laughter usually made Lance laugh with him. This time it made him glare with absolutely no effect at the wall across from him.

"Dude, he's probably just lagged," Chris said. "But hey, score. Half our demographic would kill to have JC Chasez unconscious in their beds. Better than half."

"Half our demographic has never heard JC Chasez snore." Lance sighed. "I've got a training session in an hour. Where the hell is Tiny? He's not answering his cell. I think JC ditched him."

"Got the week off. He's giving his sister away. Man, I wouldn't want to be the groom, would you?" Chris laughed. "I bet he's too scared to say 'I do'."

"Do you think I should call somebody?"

"Like what, a popstar-sitter? There's really a market for that in Houston, Texas?"

"Fuck you, Kirkpatrick."

"Just go do your thing. He'll be fine, he'll sleep it off and you'll get home and he'll have cleaned your apartment and alphabetized your record collection. Hey, he's still coming up for Joey's play, right?"

"Gee, Chris, I didn't have time to ask in the five seconds he was conscious."

"Do you always wake up in such a crappy mood, or is this one specially for me?"

"I didn't even know he was coming."

"Are you pissed?"

"No, of course not. I was just surprised. And then he was a coma patient, and now I have to go. You're all getting together in New York and I can't come. And I wanted somebody to come visit me and somebody did and I'm totally missing it. And now I'm whining." Lance sighed and closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "I hate whining."

"It's the thought that counts, though, right? I mean, he did go. None of the rest of us loved you enough to go."

Lance opened his eyes and grinned into the phone. "Again, fuck you."

"Awwww. Do you hate me?"

"Yes."

"A lot?"

"Yes."

"Are you quitting the band?"

"No."

"Then I don't care," Chris said cheerfully, and hung up.

  
   


* * *

  
   


  


Morning arrived with sunlight falling across the bed in warm yellow bars and a dazed sense of wrongness about the empty spot behind him. At first Lance couldn't figure out why he was on the side of the bed instead of in the middle, and then he couldn't figure out why being on the wall-side of an empty bed made him feel happy and disoriented at the same time.

And then he remembered.

And then he grinned, and actually bounced a little on his way out of bed, thinking, _Sad, Bass, very very sad._ Lance doubted anybody in the world had ever been so happy to wake up not in bed with JC Chasez.

He checked the clock and then showered fast. He had four hours before he had to be anywhere, so they could have breakfast at Le Madeleine. Great little quiches that JC would love and strong black coffee. It was late enough that it wouldn't be packed with the before-work crowd and early enough that the bread and the tomato soup would still be hot and fresh.

Lance finalized their itinerary while he pulled on his favorite faded jeans (which Justin said were ready for the rag pile and which Joey said were soft and sexy and which Chris said would bring in a mint if he sold them on eBay) and the hunter green knit pullover Justin's mom had given him two birthdays ago because it brought out his eyes. He didn't put much gel in his hair because he didn't want to look like a complete tool in front of all the people at the Space Center who didn't give a damn what he looked like, but you never knew when somebody was going to snap your picture and if that happened when you were standing next to JC, you wanted to look your best.

He opened the bedroom door, anticipation curling warm and light under his ribs. He hadn't hung out with anybody he actually liked since the hiatus plowed through the group like a cue ball and sent them all spinning off in different directions. It felt like Christmas.

MTV poured low out of the set, splashing bright bands of obnoxious color across the black leather couch. And across JC, who was stretched out on it on his stomach, fast asleep, with his face mashed into the cushion under him. One hand trailed down to the floor where it curled limply a few inches shy of the remote.

Lance groaned, threw himself into the matching chair, and called Chris. Justin answered on the fourth ring.

"Hey, J, put Chris on."

"Chris can't come to the phone right now, on account of how I just kicked his sorry ass at Tomb Raider. Again. And now I have to sit on him until he declares me the Supreme King of all computer games ever." A strangled shout filtered through the line in a range only Chris could hit, cut off by a muffled _thud._ Justin said sweetly, "Aww, now, when has that move ever worked, you doofus," and then there was another _thud_ and something heavy fell over and shattered.

Lance winced. Another hotel they'd never be invited back to.

"Justin," Lance said. And then louder, because Justin was chanting, _say it, say it, say it!_ and laughing hysterically, "Justin! C'mon, I'm on a schedule here!"

"I am the Supreme King!"

"You can't play Deus Ex for shit, though, so give it up and put him on the phone."

"The cyborgs creep me out," Justin said defensively, but a second later Chris was huffing into his ear and yelling at Justin to get the hell off his chest so he could talk to a grown-up for a change.

"So, Lance," Chris said when he could breathe again.

"So, Chris."

"How's my favorite space cadet?"

Lance had his mouth open to start complaining about his shattered breakfast plans and his useless pre-training itinerary when he realized Chris was talking about JC.

He pressed his lips together and tried to telepathically communicate through the phone exactly how un-funny Chris was. When Chris just kept waiting with no sign of sudden psychic receptivity, Lance closed his eyes and sighed in bitter defeat. "He's narcoleptic. I'm thinking of having him painted to complement the carpet."

"Okay, that's it. I'm staging an intervention. Right here, right now. You're gonna have to grow some actual balls and wake him up."

"I can't wake him up. All my demolition equipment's in storage back in Orlando."

"Lance, I swear to God, if I have to come out there --"

"All right, all right." Lance stretched out and nudged JC with his toes. "JC. Yo, JC, time to wake up now. See? He didn't even stop drooling."

"Did you break his heart?" Chris demanded sharply. "If you broke his heart, Bass--"

"Wha...um." Lance frowned at the phone. "No? What?"

"Isn't that what happened to Sleeping Beauty? Some dick of a prince broke her heart and she fell asleep for a thousand years or something? Only awakened by the kiss of true love?"

Lance laughed out loud. "Sleeping Beauty was cursed at birth by evil fairies, Chris."

"Ah." Chris was silent for a few seconds and Lance waited for it and Chris said, "Do you think--" and Lance said, "I very seriously doubt it," as dryly as he could manage.

"Just checking." Chris didn't sound convinced. "So, did you try it?"

"What?"

"Did you try the kiss of true love?"

"I don't have a kiss of true love for JC Chasez. Sorry. I tried the manly nudge of a whole lot of affection, though."

"Less manly. More affection. You do know about kissing, right? This isn't one of those unexpected holes in your education due to bus high school, is it? Like the time you thought _The Goonies_ was a rock band?"

"Shut up. That would've been a great name for a rock band."

"I knew we should have let you finish your senior year."

Lance smirked into the phone. "Yeah, 'cause my pure, virgin lips had never met another's before then."

"Look, you've got JC spread out on your couch like an all-you-can-lick buffet. Don't tell me you're not gonna dig right in."

_"Chris!_ I'm. I don't think--" Lance stopped, blinked, and lost track of his grammar. He wondered if Chris had been drinking. Which was dumb, because of course Chris had been drinking, but he wondered if he'd been mixing alcohol with something else. Like possibly crack cocaine.

"Unlike most of your life right now, Lance, this is not rocket science. A simple answer--"

"There's a word for people who kiss other people who aren't even awake, and I--"

"You're not even trying! Either wake him the fuck up or go on your lonely way to your lonely new space job far away from any of your best friends who, overflowing with the milk of human kindness, are trying in vain to inject a little happiness into that lonely little existence you're existing in down there. Alone."

"We were going to have quiches and soup," Lance said, sounding pathetic even in his own ears. "I had it all planned."

"Oh, my God, you're really seriously five. Seriously. I love you, man, but you're five years old. You're a five year old _girl._ I'm hiring you a nanny as soon as we get off the phone."

"I never really liked you, Chris," Lance said, and hung up just as Chris started laughing.

He hadn't really expected help from that quarter anyway. Lance was big enough to admit he'd just wanted to hear friendly voices, and it didn't look like he was going to hear JC's again, ever. Action was required, and Lance was all about action. He was Action-guy, the man with the plan. If there was a gene for getting things done, Lance had it in some crazy mutated superhero form and nobody, not even his four best friends who seemed to view picking on him as a solemn contractual obligation, would deny it. So, Chris was no help. So what? He was just fine on his own, absolutely fine. Lance Bass did not need Chris Kirkpatrick's help for anything.

He snapped his phone shut, barely resisting the urge to hurl it across the room.

It wasn't like they all hadn't spent the better part of a decade trying to figure out how to get JC out of bed. The problem was, a lot of things had worked over the years, but no one thing had ever worked _twice._ Turned out they hadn't just been waking him up all those times; they'd been inoculating him, building up an impenetrable resistance.

Noise didn't work; they could scream in his ear and he'd just cover his head and roll over. Shaking him didn't work, and could get a guy -- reflexively and unintentionally, and he was always really sorry after -- punched in the face. The alarm clock that could even make him twitch had yet to be manufactured. Other methods -- evil methods involving ice water (Joey), near-suffocation (Justin), low-level electric shock, amateur acupuncture, or sex (Chris, Chris, and Chris) -- pissed JC off so bad he wouldn't talk for days after and still only ever worked the once.

Lance, being honest with himself in the privacy of his own mind, had to admit he'd always been too chicken to try any of it. Short of fire, flood, or imminent performance, Lance always figured they were better off letting JC sleep. There was one thing, though, that he'd always kind of thought might work. He dropped to the floor by the couch, cross-legged, and leaned in close to JC's ear. Softly at first, then cranking it up, he started to sing.

_Goodnight, Sweetheart_ was first because he couldn't think of any wake-up songs. Once JC started to smile a little in his sleep, Lance switched over to _All I Want Is You._ He sang it exactly like Chris and Justin and JC sang it, sweet and soulful and strong, only he couldn't hit a true note in Chris's range to save his own mama's life, and the ones he could hit were mostly flat. He wasn't much better in Justin's range or JC's, but since it was never the bass who went solo and crazy and died of a heroin overdose in a seedy hotel room at the pinnacle of his success, Lance didn't mind much.

It only took a verse for JC's contented smile to fade, for a tiny crease to form between his eyebrows. Lance smiled, and kept singing Chris's counter-tenor like only a true bass could. He barely made it into the first chorus before JC was lifting his head, blinking and frowning and saying, "Uh, Lance, what the hell...?"

Lance stopped singing and grinned. "Welcome to Houston, lazybones."

  
   


* * *

  
   


  


JC loved the quiches and the coffee. He loved the Galleria, too, and he was nearly orgasmic over the Water Wall. He stood just inside the spray and tilted his head back and looked up and up. Lance looked with him and got dizzy; nothing but bright blue sky and falling water. They could have been standing on an empty planet inside some ancient alien monument, except to the right there were kids laughing and somewhere in the distance an ice cream truck was tinkling out a cool, seductive tune, just off-key. Lance swayed a little, looked back down to orient himself, and just barely saved JC from toppling head-first into the base of the fountain.

JC spent a lot of the morning hugging Lance, which Lance liked a lot even though it was a little bit weird. He hugged Lance when they left Le Madeleine, and he hugged Lance when they left the Water Wall. He hugged Lance in the car for no reason at all and rambled about shooting stars and comets for five minutes without hitting a single period.

As they pulled out on to Post Oak Drive, Lance flicked his eyes across at JC and said seriously, "Did Chris tell you I'm dying? 'Cause I'm not."

JC's eyebrows crowded together over puzzled eyes. "Why would he tell me you're dying? Are you sick?" He reached out and felt Lance's forehead. "You feel warm. Do you want some Echinacea? Do you need to go lie down?"

Lance batted JC's hand away. "I'm fine! You just keep, you're all hugging me and stuff. All the time."

Looking hurt, JC leaned against the passenger side door. "I like you."

"I like you, too. I just worried that you were worried."

"I'm not worried."

"'Cause if you were, that would be okay. Just not if you're worried because of something Chris said, because honestly, JC, Chris is a stone cold liar and you're kind of...um. Trusting."

"First, Chris is not either a liar. He never lies about anything important. And second, I have instincts about people. And third, I already said I'm not worried! And fourth, I can stop hugging you any time, man. I don't need, like, a twelve step program. I can stop right now. Just watch me."

"I don't want you to stop hugging me."

JC said nothing, in such a way that Lance fully believed he'd sit there in silence until the sun burned out and ice sheets covered the planet.

"JC, Joshua, nearest and dearest friend of my heart, friend whom I admire and love above all other friends except possibly Joey, and Chris when he's in a good mood, and Justin when he's sleeping, I beg you to hug me again. Please."

JC stared hard out the window, but Lance caught the corner of a smile in the rearview mirror.

"You know I can't survive without your manly affection, Jayce." Lance grinned at the road and sang, off-key: "I live oooooooonly for your chaste embraaaace--"

"Shut up shut up shut up!" JC collapsed against the seat, laughing until he wheezed. "Don't. Ok, dude, seriously. Don't rhyme. _Ever._"

"Better re-think the hugging, then."

"I don't go around hugging albino freaks who can't sing," JC said, then leaned his head on Lance's shoulder.

Lance smiled. "That's not actually a hug."

"I'm hugging you with my head! Geez!"

For penance, Lance took JC to the Crossroads Bookstore and Cafe, and watched with a hidden smile while JC figured out exactly what kind of place it was. His grin when it all came together was blinding. They had coffee again, really amazingly good coffee made by a really amazingly gay barista whose nametag said "Anytime". JC was so charmed he took his shades off to flirt and Anytime, whose real name turned out to be Bryan, gave him his hazelnut latte for free. Bryan wore a red AIDS ribbon and a rainbow pride-pin like all the other Crossroads employees and most of its patrons, and he would have thrown in the peanut butter silk pie for another smile. JC would have let him do that and more, but Lance rolled his eyes and laid down some plastic and JC got distracted by a rack of used CDs and wandered off. It was exactly the kind of place where people would recognize them, but nobody did, and when they were done with their coffee and pie and back issues of The Advocate they wound happily among the shelves for half an hour. Then Lance had to go to work, and JC went with him.

JC didn't love NASA.

"You can head back to the hotel if you want," Lance said for the fifth time, watching JC studying the cabin simulator with a pale, greenish face. "I'll only be here a few more hours, and then--"

"No, I'm fine," JC said. He smiled, looking absolutely miserable. "It's cool."

"It’s like the cabin in there. See, I sit in this chair, and --" Lance broke off. JC's eyes were fixed on the wall and he wasn't hearing a word. He nudged at JC's shoulder and grabbed his hand. "C'mon. Climb in, I got the okay for it."

"What?" JC pulled away and actually took a step back. "No, I, um. No, that's okay." He looked at the displays and buttons like he thought they might be toxic.

"JC, I'm gonna be perfectly safe. This thing is completely routine. If you get in, you'll see how comfortable it is and how there's nothing at all to worry about."

"I'm not worried."

Lance rolled his eyes.

"I'm not! I'm perfectly fine. You'll be perfectly fine. Chris said so." JC nodded several times, quickly, and didn't look convinced. "It's awfully small, Lance."

"If I can get in it, you can get in it and bring a twin brother with you."

JC tilted his head and poked Lance in the belly. "Not anymore. You're totally non-cuddly now. You've got muscles all over the place, you're like a rock, man."

"I can still cuddle! It's an art, not a feature."

"I meant, like, figuratively." JC smiled softly and looped an arm around Lance. "You'll always be cuddly to me, Pez."

"Shut up." Lance felt the blush rushing up into his cheeks and glared at JC to cover it. "Are you getting in?"

"No. I believe you, and I believe Chris, and it's all safe and there's nothing to worry about and you'll be fine and I really don't want to --"

"I'll tell Chris you were chicken."

"I am not!"

"I'll tell him you cried like a girl."

JC looked at him reproachfully. "That's just mean."

  
   


* * *

  
   


  


When he finally had JC convinced that he couldn't break it, and that there was no weird sympathetic magic thing going on that would make Lance die of explosive decompression in the vacuum of space if JC breathed too hard on a readout, Lance wandered out of earshot, flipped open his phone and dialed. He had to go through a stylist, a photographer, two make-up artists and Johnny before Justin got on the line.

"You're too famous to hold your own phone now?"

"Dude, I'm in the middle of a photo shoot. You're messing with my sexy here."

"Nature did that, J. I just admire her work."

"And now you're messing with my warm and loving vibe. I can't go on camera wanting to punch you, man, they'll start asking me all about Brit again. Say something nice."

Lance thought about it. "You've got a really fine set of teeth."

"See, now, how hard was that?"

"Justin, listen." Lance looked over his shoulder; JC had engaged one of the trainers in conversation and was waving his hands wildly, completely absorbed. "I need you to do something for me."

"Yo, I'm here for you. What's up?"

"JC thinks I'm gonna die in space."

Silence on the end of the line, and then, "He said that?"

"He didn't have to. He held my hand in the car all the way to NASA."

"That's just JC, man, you know that. Hug the world."

"A few minutes ago I left him to get a coke and he kissed me goodbye. Forget about space. He didn't think I was coming back from the soda machine."

"Oh." Justin whistled through his teeth. "Okay, that is bad. Does he use that sad-voice where he --"

"Ever since we got here."

_"Oh._ Fuck. You want me to come out there?"

"Yeah, J, I want you to skip out on the most important performance of your life to babysit JC while I go play Lance Skywalker."

"Hey, Lance. C'mon, man, that's not fair."

Lance signed and pressed his forehead against the window pane. "No, I know, I'm sorry."

"My work with you guys is just as important to me --"

"I _know,_ Justin, I said I was sorry. I was just being a prick."

"Yeah, you were. And you're not just out there playing games, we all know that."

I hate myself, Lance thought. He said, softly, "Yeah, J, I know."

"Yeah. Okay."

"I'm just worried."

"I know. Look, what do you need me to do? Anything, just say the word."

"He's heading back soon. Could one of you, you or Joey preferably because Chris is deranged, pick him up at the airport? And kinda keep an eye on him at the VMAs?"

"Is that all? We'd do that anyway."

"Yeah, but I also want you to go to his apartment. You have a key, right? Just look around a bit."

"For what?"

"I'm pretty sure he's got a copy of Apollo 13 stashed someplace. In the car he was asking me about meteors and space junk and how thick is the hull of the rocket really, stuff like that. He actually used the term 'cryo-stir' correctly in a sentence."

"Whatadork."

"Yeah."

"He's just winding himself up," Justin said firmly.

Lance nodded at Justin, at the Justin on the phone. Justin was a good guy, steady. Wise beyond his years. "Exactly."

"Because you're gonna be fine. There's absolutely nothing to worry about. It's a routine mission, they've done it hundreds of times. Okay, maybe not hundreds, but some. Before. They've done it before."

Justin was talking very fast. Lance frowned a little. "Justin?"

"And you're going through all this intensive training, so you'll know how to take care of yourself out there. Up there. You'll do great and come back safe and it'll all be normal, except you'll be more famous than me, and I'll hate you. But you'll be fine."

Lance leaned against the wall, stunned. "Justin, fuck."

There was a long quiet on the line. Then, very very softly, Justin said, "It's just that you'll be out there all by yourself."

He wouldn't be, there'd be two cosmonauts, and then lots of people on the space station itself. But he knew that wasn't what Justin meant. "Is everybody else freaking out like this?"

"No. Pretty much just me and JC. Well, and we got a copy of _Armageddon_ last week and Joey kind of started crying at the end and I think that's when JC stopped sleeping. And Chris put his fist through a mirror. But it was just that once, and he was pretty drunk, and he didn't even need any stitches. Really, we're all good."

"Why didn't anybody tell me this was going on? Geez. You guys should have told me."

"Cause what we really want you to do is skip out on the most important opportunity of your life to babysit a boyband, Bass."

"Four-fifths of a boyband," Lance said sharply.

"We want this for you, man. We're just a little nervous."

"You guys," Lance said, and stopped. Because he didn't know what to say, it was all so huge. He wished it didn't make him feel so good, that they were all so scared, but it kind of did. It welled up in his chest like a balloon, so big and light it hurt. "You're all. I seriously love you guys."

"We love you, too."

"Stay away from the _Horrible Death in Space_ section of Blockbuster from now on."

"Yeah, well, we kinda figured that one out on our own."

"I'm going to be fine."

"You don't know how to be anything else," Justin said, and Lance loved him more than he ever had right then, just for sounding so absolutely sure.

  
   


* * *

  
   


  


It wasn't hard to ditch JC for a day. He made up a series of Saturday training sessions on the spot and JC saw him off with a smile. He handed Lance a brown paper bag that later turned out to have a cheese sandwich and an orange in it and waved the elevator doors closed between them.

He flew nonstop to Orlando. He didn't take anything but his wallet. He flew coach because nobody expected to see Lance Bass in coach, and he wore the hat JC had given him for going out in public in Houston. It looked even worse on Lance than it did on JC, but it did seem to have special powers; nobody in the airport even glanced his way.

By noon Eastern Standard Time they were in a coffee shop on Orange Avenue. Lance arrived late and immediately cut Chris off. Even decaf coffee turned Chris a little weird, and between that and the sugar he was too jazzed even to move. He just sat there perfectly still and buzzed at Lance across the table like a hyped-up junkie. His eyes had a shine to them Lance had never liked. No good had ever come of it.

He looked pretty tame, though. For that much Lance was grateful. The mohawk made people look at them and when they looked they always recognized them and then nothing got said except, "Hi, yeah, that's us, sure, we'd be happy to, what's your name?" And then if they were lucky they got out before anybody started taking pictures. But Chris had the mohawk brushed down, and he'd cut the horns off his beard, and he was wearing just a normal black leather jacket and normal jeans and normal sneakers. He was clutching his mug like he expected it to grow legs and make a run for it, but maybe nobody would notice.

Lance hunched over his latte and toyed with the stir stick, trying to think of a warm, caring way to say what he had to say. He wasn't instinctively good with people, he never had been, and usually with Chris he didn't have to put in the effort. Chris got it. Chris got _him,_ on some instinctive level, probably because Chris was the reigning king of saying things the totally wrong way without really meaning to and Lance was just a loyal subject of the realm.

Still, this was important, and he wanted to make sure he didn't screw it up. He thought some more, and stared at his coffee some more, and played with the stir stick some more until Chris grabbed his wrist and said, "Dude, touch that thing again and I'm taking this hand off with my teeth, right here in front of the muffin bin."

"Sorry." Lance flattened his palm on the tabletop, and Chris let go.

"Just say it, whatever it is. You're freaking me out."

Lance snorted. "Right, I'm freaking _you_ out."

"Yeah, you are. Do you have cancer or AIDS or something, are you on drugs, are you in trouble with the law, what? Are you pregnant?"

"All of that," Lance said, as earnest as he knew how. "And the kid's not even mine!"

"JC's been calling Justin like every day, he thinks you hate him."

"What? No! Hell, Chris, he's JC. Is that even possible?"

"That's what we keep telling him, but he says you don't talk to him."

"He's moved in with me."

"So?"

"So he didn't ask, he just moved in. All the sudden I'm sharing a sock drawer and I have no idea how it happened. He makes me coffee in the mornings. He does my fucking laundry. Yesterday I went shopping and when I came home I had soy milk and pineapple orange juice in the bags and I don't even remember putting them in the basket. There's something really weird going on."

Chris leaned back and grinned. "You think C's using some kinda freaky mind ray on you? Forcing you to drink juice and be lactose-free against your will?"

"Yes," Lance snapped. "Yes, I do."

"That soy milk thing, that was really sweet of you."

"Shut up."

"Look." The smile dropped off Chris's face and he leaned forward and squeezed Lance's wrist. "You were lonely."

"I never said I was lonely."

"You called Justin six times the day you got to Houston."

"I thought I'd left some stuff at his place."

"You called Joey four times the day after that and you weren't even staying at his place so don't even try. You emailed JC fifteen stupid jokes you found on the internet. You called me and asked if I'd fly out and bring you your favorite shirt which if my eyes do not deceive me," and he tugged at Lance's sleeve, one of two nice blue chambray sleeves rolled up past his elbows, "you're currently wearing."

Lance picked at his napkin, glaring at the table. "I forgot I packed it."

"You were lonely, man. JC to the rescue. None of the rest of us could get away. Hey, if I hadn't had band stuff to do in Orlando you'd be sharing your sock drawer with me."

"Chris..." Lance took a deep breath and let it out slow. "I need JC out of my hair. He's...he's distracting me."

"From the space stuff?"

"None of this is easy for me." He could feel the red creeping into his cheeks, but he forced himself to meet Chris's eyes directly. "I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer. I can't learn all this, I can't learn what I need to learn if I can't focus."

"Okay, first, bullshit. I'm not listening to any crap about you not being smart. They don't send stupid people into space, last time I checked. And second, what's JC doing that you can't focus?" Chris frowned. "Is he bugging you?"

"No! No, I-- I'm glad that he came, I'm grateful that he cared enough to be there for me." Lance smiled in spite of himself. "That you guys cared enough to make sure somebody was."

"Then what is it?"

"I think." Lance looked away and told himself to breathe, _breathe._ "It's possible, I think he may have some kind of thing. For me."

"_Lans_ten. Are you seriously implying that our sweet little JC may have gone down to the big city because he's got slightly carnal designs on your undeniably hot bod?" Chris grinned hugely. "Are you telling me JC _likes_ you?"

"Yes. And don't call me that, and shut up. And yes. I think it's possible."

"So?"

"So?" Lance blinked at Chris. "What do you mean, so? So this is a problem."

"Why?"

_"Why?"_

"Well, I mean, he hasn't tried to molest you or anything, has he? You're not gonna file some kind of sexual harassment suit, are you? Because that would seriously fuck with PR, man. And it'd break his heart. He'd give you that look, and you'd be all sad and guilty and I'd have to kick your ass. There's no good there."

Lance glared. "You're enjoying this."

"No," Chris said solemnly. Lance just looked at him, and kept looking at him, and narrowed his eyes as he looked at him until Chris finally grinned and laughed and said, "Yes. Okay, yes, a little. A lot."

"This isn't funny. It's really really bad, Chris, it's dangerous. We can't have this kind of thing happening."

"Oh, come on, what kind of thing? It's JC. He's got a thing for you. If you were smart, you'd kick back and enjoy it."

"The fucking up the band kind of thing. The hurting JC's feelings and then worrying about it for the next three months instead of acing my training classes kind of thing. It's not good for me, it's not good for the band, and it's not good for JC."

Chris grinned. "You have to admit, though. It'd be great for ETV."

"All I'm saying is, I don't have time for any of this. I need you to find a way to peel him off me without him getting hurt. I love him like...like JC. But I need you to fix this now, okay? I can't deal."

"You know, in all this little song and dance about I can't and we shouldn't and I never, I still haven't heard you say anything that might lead me to think getting horizontal with JC would be something you would find personally unappealing."

Lance leaned back in his seat and looked at Chris for a long moment before saying anything. Chris looked back, attentive and weirdly more calm than Lance could remember seeing him in a long time. "Chris, don't ask me any questions you don't want to hear the answers to."

"Is that what I just did?"

"I'm just sayin'. The last time we had this conversation--"

"Oh, no." Chris snapped his head back and forth and leaned across the table. "Don't even try putting this on me, Bass. The last time we had this conversation you were sixteen years old and practically drooling over my nubile young body--"

"Oh, please, I never _once_\--"

"--and we were nobody. I had to be able to go in and tell Lou that there was no way this sweet little albino kid would ever cause him a moment's worry and then I had to be able to go in and tell your mom that there would be absolutely positively no corrupting of her sweet little virginal Christian boy while we dragged him out on the road for the next ten years or so of his life. You know what things were like then, and you know that's not how things are now."

"Things haven't changed all that much, Chris. We've still got an image--"

Chris waved his hand to cut Lance off. "Fuck the image. We'll get a new image."

"Riiiiight."

"No, seriously. You want to come out? Come out tomorrow. A million people who never heard of us and wouldn't have bought our next album anyway still won't buy our next album. Another million people who never heard of us will buy the next album 'cause we're so cool and edgy and gay, and another million who would have bought the album will call us fags and buy the album anyway because, dude. We rock. So we still end up ahead."

"Chris, that's a really simplistic --"

"And hey, we're in hiatus, so it's not like we can't use the publicity. Keep our names out there. Half the world thinks we're breaking up anyway."

Lance snorted. "Fucking Timberlake."

"Amen." Chris clinked his mug against Lance's and downed the last of his coffee.

"I don't want to come out. Hell, I haven't even said I'm gay yet, who says I have anything to come out with?"

"Yeah," Chris said. "About that. Where's the fucking trust? I mean, it's not like we didn't know, but a little mention would've been nice. And it's not like we're a bunch of homophobes, you know. Strictly speaking, I have not always clung steadfastly to traditional masculine sexual norms myself. We could've, I don't know, we could've painted each other's toenails or something."

"I weep for opportunities lost, man."

"You know what your problem is? You'd rather be miserable than honest, that's your problem."

"Okay, first? Not miserable. Hello? Popstar-slash-Space Jockey, living the dream. And second, the group was gay enough when I got here, the last thing we needed was --

"You think there's some kind of legislation, one pretty gay boy per boyband? and we took a vote and JC won? Dude, there is something _wrong_ with you."

Lance pressed his lips together, waved a hand in Chris's face, and said, "Fine. Hi. I'm Lance Bass, and I'm gay."

"About fucking time."

"But I'm still not into JC."

"Then you're gay and on drugs, man, and I repeat: There is something _wrong_ with you."

On the way out, when Chris had paid for Lance's coffee ("Cuz you already got a toaster, man") and Lance had tipped the barista and the door had barely stopped jingling behind them, Chris grabbed Lance's arm and turned him around and wrapped him into a bone-cracking hug. Lance squeezed back just as hard, leaning down and pressing his face into Chris's shoulder and holding on.

"You're gonna do good, Bass. We're all so fucking proud, we can't stand you. I, personally, hate your guts."

"I, um." He cleared his throat and tried to bring his voice up a little. "Yeah."

"I'm gonna get you a little rainbow patch for your suit."

Lance laughed, and squeezed harder. He wasn't good at knowing when to back out of a hug, so he just stood there squeezing as long as Chris did, then backed up a step and met Chris's eyes squarely. "I love you guys a lot."

"That's why we put up with you."

"Gotta go."

"Yeah."

"Call C?"

Chris rolled his eyes and waved Lance away with a little shooing motion. "You worry about NASA. I'll take care of the girl."

  
   


* * *

  
   


  


When Lance got back to the hotel, he found JC packing. He looked serious and sad.

"Uh, C? Are we breaking up?"

"Doofus," JC said. He threw a balled up pair of socks at Lance and sat on the edge of the bed. "I been tagged out. Chris called."

"You're leaving me for Chris? --Wait a minute. _Tagged out_?"

The second ball of socks was aimed better, and pegged Lance right between the eyes. "I'm not leaving you for Chris. I don't have the hots for Chris. I don't have the hots for you, either, by the way. You could've just told me to get out, dawg. I don't break. I _bend_."

"I, well." Lance began a small list of all the ways in which he was going to kill Chris. He flailed his arms a bit. "I couldn't. I don't really want you to go, I just--"

JC nodded sagely. "You just don't want anybody here."

"Sort of. More like, I want people here, I just can't have anybody here. Not if I'm getting through this."

"And you're totally getting through this, Lance." JC wrapped his arms around Lance and squeezed the breath out of him. "Tell Chris I went quietly, okay?"

Lance just grinned and hugged him back.

  
   


* * *

  
   


  


But the money didn't come through, and Russia said no. So Lance didn't get through it after all.

  
   


* * *

  
   


  


He stayed with Joey for a while. It wasn't like a visit and Joey didn't treat him like a guest. Kelly came and went at random, trying to be nice to him when she was there, but Lance didn't want anybody being nice to him. He didn't want anything.

He spent a lot of time drunk. Probably a couple of weeks, altogether. He didn't remember much of it. He stayed in the guest room when he was drinking, because he didn't want to scare Briahna. Once or twice, Joey sobered him up enough to make a statement. The flashbulbs hurt his eyes and made him feel like he was stuck in an endless flinch.

JC came to visit once, and Justin came by a few times. Chris never did, and Lance didn't call him. As little as he wanted to see anybody, he wanted to see Chris even less. Chris had put his fist through a mirror and then he'd hugged Lance and said he was proud. Lance didn't think he could look him in the face, after that.

Joey wasn't ever going to kick him out, so one day Lance packed his bags and hugged him and kissed Briahna and moved back home. It was the grown-up thing to do; he couldn't stay drunk and depressed forever. He told himself he was okay, and he told Joey he was okay, and he handed back his keys.

Joey wouldn't take them. "Just in case," he said. Lance hugged him again, for that.

The house in LA was empty and depressing. He'd forgotten to call and say he'd be back, so everything was dust and dustcovers. He pulled the sheet off his living room couch, wrapped himself up in it, and slept for sixteen hours.

A few hours after that, Joey called. "I'm gonna be fine," he said, for about the millionth time, knocking his feet against each other on the coffee table. "You don't have to keep checking up, I'm not gonna slit my wrists or anything."

"I'm not worried."

Lance rolled his eyes. "Yes you are."

"Am not."

"Then how come I have eight messages from you in voice mail, just since I left your house?"

Joey's voice lowered to a growl. "I'm not worried _anymore_."

But he was worried, and Joey didn't handle worry well from a distance. He lasted three days before showing up at Lance's door with a bag full of DVDs and a couple of six-packs. The thought of drinking again after his month-long binge made Lance's stomach turn slow, dizzy somersaults in his gut. He took the DVDs, and let Joey keep the beer.

Later, on his couch, Joey waved randomly at the television. "I like this movie," he said hazily.

Lance watched Joey critically. He'd thought Joey was sleeping. "What are we watching?"

"Something about robots?"

Lance grinned. _"Boa vs. Python."_

"I meant snakes. Something about snakes. Chris said you'd like it."

"Yeah?"

"Yup."

"When did you talk to him?"

"Yesterday. He said to say hi."

"What a guy," Lance said dryly.

Joey nodded. "Want another beer?"

"I haven't had a beer all night, Joey. What else did you and Chris talk about?"

"Oh, well." Joey waved his hand in the air, nearly spilling his bottle. Lance rescued it, and set it safely on an end table. "Chris. You know."

"Chris." Lance nodded, settling back into the cushions. "He hasn't been by."

"He will be." Joey laughed a weird laugh. "Just wait."

"He tried to set me up with JC, did you know that?"

Joey grinned. "Oh, yeah. C told me."

"I don't know what that was supposed to accomplish. Maybe I was supposed to fall in love and stay on the ground so my new boyfriend wouldn't freak out."

"Right," Joey said, "I'm sure that was it."

Lance looked at Joey sharply. "What?"

"What, what?"

"What do you mean, you're sure that was it?"

Joey frowned. "What?"

"You don't think that was it?"

"Lance, come on." Joey stared at Lance, waiting.

"What?"

"I'm smarter than that even _with_ alcohol poisoning. You seriously think that was the plan?"

Lance shrugged. He didn't know what the plan was, except maybe to keep him so distracted he flunked out of everything, but even Chris wasn't that evil. "I don't care what the plan was," he said. "The plan _failed_."

Joey snorted. "Since when does a Chris plan fail?"

"I'm not dating JC, am I? I'm not _into_ JC." He gave the coffee table a hard, malicious kick. "I hate Chris," he muttered, folding his arms tight across his chest.

Joey patted Lance's shoulder kindly. "Yeah, I know."

In the morning, Joey and his beer were gone.

  
   


* * *

  
   


  


Dating, Lance discovered, was far easier on the stomach lining than drinking. It was easy, too; mostly he could just pick a sidewalk cafe and wait. He looked good in LA; he tanned up well, lightened his hair a little, and bought a few sets of ridiculously expensive shades. He liked to get up around nine and lounge around over coffee and a paper in the sunshine, wearing cheap patterned shirts and baggy shorts that showed off his legs. He usually had a lunch date by noon and he'd usually gotten laid by four or five, just in time to ditch and pick somebody out for dinner. Sometimes it was the same guy; sometimes it was somebody different. He didn't care as long as they didn't, and he was getting a hell of a lot of exercise.

His favorite place for breakfast didn't actually have a name. It had great eggs, though, and a good walk-in business. The chairs were comfortable and coffee refills were free. By the time he got in there was always a paper waiting, which was a nice touch that moved him to wildly extravagant tips. It wasn't on the Strip but it wasn't too far out of the way, which was probably how Chris found him.

"You are such a fucking _loser_," he said, and hit Lance hard on the head with a rolled-up newspaper.

"Ow," Lance said, staring. Chris dropped into the seat across from him, which was usually reserved for prey. "What the hell."

Chris leaned over the table. "Joey tells me you're out here slutting around because you're so horribly depressed and probably suicidal and something about your inner child and what_ever_, and I find you kicked back with a paper and coffee, looking all tan and lean and," he waved his arms angrily, "_look_ at you!"

"I'm not slutting around," Lance said indignantly. "I happen to be exploring my sexuality."

"You're an idiot."

"As I recall, it was _your_ idea!"

Chris fell back into his seat, glaring. "_My_ idea was JC. A patient, easy-going, loving guy to guide your innocent bod in the ways of manful lust."

Lance's eyebrows went up.

"Mostly innocent?"

"Not since sixth grade."

Chris covered his face with his hands and made a noise Lance didn't think he'd ever heard before.

"Chris?"

"Okay." Chris lowered his hands and looked at Lance seriously. "Okay, so, what are we going to do about this? You can't just sleep with every guy in LA, Lance. At the rate you're going, you're going to run out in about a month, and then where will you be?"

"San Francisco's nice this time of year," Lance said, and ducked. The spoon sailed past harmlessly, bouncing off an empty table behind him. He straightened up slowly, keeping his eyes on Chris's hands. "Sorry."

"I didn't come see you when you didn't go into space," Chris said. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't think you'd want anybody around."

"I didn't."

"I'm still sorry."

Lance shrugged, and stared over Chris's shoulder. "Old news."

"Lance..."

"Chris, stop it. I'm not suicidal, I'm not depressed, my inner child is fine. I appreciate your concern, but it's not necessary. Look." Lance reached into his pocket and pulled out his keychain. He pulled off a spare key and slid it across the table. "If you want to hang out in LA for a while, you're welcome to stay at my place, that's cool, but I'm not going to end up hanging from the rafters if you don't. And I kind of have a date tonight, so don't expect me till you see me, okay?" He pushed his chair back and stood up.

Chris stood up with him. "Well," he said softly. "I can't imagine why Joey was worried. Clearly you are the very picture of mental and emotional health."

Lance slid his shades on and smiled.

  
   


* * *

  
   


  


He didn't really have a date; just a sudden, intense need not to be around Chris. He stayed out anyway, hitting some clubs, being seen. He cut one visit short because somebody told him Justin was up in VIP, and that made sense; that was probably why Chris had showed up in the first place. It made Lance feel a little better, anyway; if he had to get a pity visit, he preferred it to be a side trip and not the main event. Maybe now Chris would have it out of his system, and Lance could get on with pretending the last six months never happened. It was hard work, but not without its pleasures, and Lance was dedicated to the cause.

Even so, he opened his front door just shy of midnight. Even in LA, there were only so many places you could go before you had to get high or get laid, and tonight Lance wasn't in the market for either. Mostly he was in the market for a shower and his own empty bed.

He didn't precisely sneak into his own house, but he didn't go out of his way to make noise, either. There was no sign of Chris in the living room or the den. No sign of his stuff, either, which was a little odd because Chris was the kind of guy who left a mark. Lance stood in his kitchen, his perfectly clean, perfectly unused kitchen, and stared at the shiny, spotless countertop. There was no sign of Chris because Chris wasn't here.

Lance went back out to the living room and sat down on his couch. The empty quiet of the house closed around him and pinned him down. He pulled a throw pillow across his middle and wrapped his arms around it.

Chris hadn't come.

A minute or an hour later, the phone rang. Lance jerked at the first sound to break the silence, and fumbled for the handset. He looked at the caller ID and took a deep breath.

"Hi, Joey."

"Chris sent JC to take care of you because he was too chickenshit to do it himself."

"...what?"

"He said he didn't want to distract you, but what he meant was, he was scared you wouldn't want him there. It's a good thing you didn't say anything today to reinforce that impression, huh? You unbe_liev_able moron."

"He said that?"

"Of course he didn't say that."

"Then how--"

"I am _not_ a moron," Joey said. "Also, Justin told me."

Lance shook his head, even though Joey couldn't see. "He's not _here_, Joey." He couldn't believe how much that suddenly hurt.

"I know," Joey said gently. "What are you going to do about it?"

  
   


* * *

  
   


  


The heroic thing to do, Lance figured, would be to call all the hotels in town and give them all of Chris's fake names until he found where Chris was staying. The slightly less heroic, but still fairly cool thing would be to have one of his people do it. Lance didn't have that kind of time, though, and he didn't like the idea of outsourcing this particular job.

So he called Justin.

"Hallelujah," Justin said. "About fucking _time!_ He's dripping noble sacrifice all over my rug. You want me to come get you?"

Lance blinked. "Hi," he said.

"Seriously. I will send a car. I will drive you _myself_."

"I can drive, Justin."

"Can I tell him you're coming?"

"I... " Lance bit his lip. "I don't know. What do you think?"

"Are you asking me for romantic advice? Because I could write you a _book_, yo. Epic."

In spite of himself, Lance grinned. "Uh, no."

"Just get your ass over here. I'll clear out. I have places I can be."

Lance took a deep, shuddery breath. "I seriously love you, J."

"Awww." Justin's voice went all drippy. "Get in the fucking car already, you freakshow."

  
   


* * *

  
   


  


At Justin's door, Lance stopped to catch his breath. He laid his hands on either side of the door frame and braced himself, trying to get steady. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and he could fall or he could fly but either way, everything would be different forever. It hummed through him like a low current, setting his nerves on edge. The sensation was completely familiar. The last time he'd had it, gravity had kicked his ass.

He closed his eyes and breathed deep. "Opportunities lost," he said softly, and pushed open the door. It was a whole different ballgame now.

Chris was in the living room, sprawled out over the couch like an afghan. The TV flickered over him, silver light shining in his eyes. He didn't see Lance come in, so for a minute Lance just watched him. It was stupidly good just to _watch_ him. He had on the same pants and shirt he'd worn to the cafe, but they were messy and wrinkled and covered with -- if Lance had to guess from the contents of the coffee table -- Cheeto dust. He'd never seen anybody, even Chris, in more desperate need of a dry cleaner. Lance smiled a sappy, helpless smile and couldn't even be disgusted with himself.

He must have moved, or made a sound, because Chris snapped upright and nearly fell off the couch. "Jesus," he snapped, "do you _mind?_ Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?" Chris clutched at his chest, glaring.

Lance felt his smile widen into a stupid grin. "Hey."

"Hey?"

"Yup." Lance nodded. "Hey."

Chris rolled his eyes. He stood up, and dusted some of the orange dust off his chest. No wonder Justin wanted him off the couch. He'd probably be happy with Chris out of his house entirely. Maybe Lance could help him out with that.

"What are you doing here?"

"I...well." Lance cleared his throat. A hot blush crept up in his cheeks. He hadn't really worked out what he wanted to say. With Chris he wasn't supposed to _have_ to work it out, but then with Chris he usually hadn't fucked everything up. "I guess I wanted to tell you, you were right."

Chris tilted his head suspiciously. "About what, exactly?"

"You were right when you said I was lonely in Houston, and you were right when you said I should have come out to you guys sooner, and you were right that I shouldn't have been slutting around in LA because I was mad at Russia." He ran the last few months through his head at high speed, thinking. "You were wrong about JC, though."

Chris sat down suddenly, like a puppet with its strings cut. "Three out of four ain't bad?"

Lance sat down beside him and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely in front of him. Mostly so they wouldn't start shaking. "You were wrong to send JC instead of yourself, too." He looked over at Chris, smiling a little. "Why'd you think I kept calling you?"

"I thought you'd gone a little space-crazy."

"I was some kind of crazy." Lance laughed, feeling a little lightheaded. "I think I still am."

"I'm starting to see that," Chris said. Slowly, he started to smile. "Still, huh?"

The blush that had settled warmly on Lance's face burned a little hotter. "Yup," he said softly.

"Huh," Chris said, in just the same tone. He turned and pushed up on one knee. Lance held very still, and Chris's hands settled on his face. He tried to think of something to say, and failing that he opened his mouth to say something thought-free, but Chris said, "Noooo, I think we've proven talking ain't exactly in our skill set," and Lance nodded quick and firm agreement, stopping only when Chris leaned down and kissed him.

Lance 1, Gravity 0.

His mouth was the warmest thing in a very warm world, and it tasted like Lance sort of thought Chris would taste, which wasn't really a taste at all. More of a sensation. Like a certain temperature only Chris could reach, Chris degrees Fahrenheit, and it was soft and sweet on the outside where their lips pressed together and then slick and hot and wet when Chris's tongue pushed in. He made a sound, and that pulled a sound out of Lance and he had to pull back and catch his breath. Chris's hands slid up and into Lance's hair.

"Oh, you're not going anywhere," Chris said, staring intently at Lance's mouth.

Lance shook his head as best he could. "Uh-uh. Nope."

"You're staying right here," Chris said, "on this couch," and Lance nodded rapidly, "naked."

Lance thought about that for maybe a second. It was Justin's couch, and he had a sense of warmth and deep friendship with Justin right now, though he couldn't quite remember why.

"On this couch," Chris said, a bit more firmly. "Because I have been patient and noble and sacrificing and I have thought only of the happiness of others, and you know how unnatural all that is for me."

"If you'd just said something sooner--"

Chris's eyes darkened dangerously. "And that was my job _why_ exactly...?"

What the hell. Justin would forgive him eventually. Lance stood up, pulled Chris's hands off his head, and stripped off his shirt. "How naked do you want me?"

"All the way," Chris said, "faster, if you don't mind," and he started to help, which wasn't exactly helpful but wasn't exactly unwelcome, either. Lance laughed and went for the buttons of Chris's pants, but it turned out there were five of them and so Chris finished first and shoved Lance's hands away. "Amateur," he said smugly, but a second after that he was naked, too, so Lance didn't care.

A long, wet, happy time later, Lance stared up at the ceiling from a couch he was pretty sure he'd be buying from Justin in the very near future and scratched softly through Chris's hair. Chris batted tiredly at his hand, which didn't stop him, then wiggled his fingers threateningly at Lance's ribs, which did.

"I feel like I haven't really breathed in about a year," Lance said quietly. Chris's arm went tight across his chest, and Lance squeezed back. "There's been this weight, the whole time you weren't around, and you weren't around very much. Were you really here all this time?"

"Always the last place you look," Chris said.

"I'm really glad you stuck around."

"Well, I'm a pretty sticky guy."

Lance grinned. "No kidding."

Chris thumped him once in the chest. "I'm serious," he said, and for a second Lance could tell he actually was.

Lance pushed up on one elbow, and looked Chris in the eye. "So am I."

"We've got some lost time to make up for."

"I know that."

"Okay." Chris nodded. "Good. That's good."

Lance waited. There was more. It was Chris; of course, there was gonna be more. "And...?" Lance said, raising one eyebrow.

Chris bit his lip nervously, and peered up through his lashes. "And...you know I'm totally painting your toenails later, right?" He shook Lance's arm and grinned. "You _owe_ me."

Lance threw his head back and laughed.  



End file.
